


Undone

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott comes to her when he wants to feel human. It isn't often anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

Scott comes to her when he wants to feel human. It doesn't happen often now. Moments like these—her fingers light and warm against his cheek, his eyes slipping shut as his face tilts up and his breath ghosts soft across her lips—are fast becoming memories, boxed like fading letters in an attic meant for other generations. It’s been weeks, nearly a month since he came to her last, the space between them gradually stretching out, tight and thin and fragile, near-breaking.

His fingers tangle in the soft jersey of her top, pulling her toward him in a motion that starts gently and ends in a crash, her body colliding with his as they fall back on the bed, her breasts meeting the too-warm, too-hard muscles beneath her. She kneels over him, legs parting, sliding against him as if to trap him against the bed, keep him close. She wants to pull him into her, to cover him with her smell. She has to leave no place unmarked: every part of him must be hers, covered in her scent.

That, at least, she knows--what it means, what the others will know, when he returns to them. She may not know where he goes or what he does, but she knows who he goes with. She knows who has taken him from her, who has been taking him piece by piece until she holds him only by a thread. This is all she has left. This, and the dimming memory of a happiness that now seems of a time too easy to be believed, a time when she could give him everything he needed, when she could be everything to him. When he would be _there_ for her, no matter what. When he would never, never leave.

Her mouth crushes against his, hungry, claiming. She forces her tongue between his lips, fighting with his and biting at his mouth with her teeth, catching skin and tasting blood. She licks it, sucking on his lower lip and ignoring the way he hisses and nearly growls beneath her. She smiles against his mouth, feeling his struggle for control, sensing him forcing his own submission--she knows what he wants, can read the battle in the trembling beneath her.

She ducks her head into the crook of his neck, sucking and licking at the skin. A whine slips out of him and he arches upward, hands grabbing at her upper arms, just big enough to enclose them completely. He's forceful enough that she can tell there will be bruises later, dark-ringed and angry red. Her smile widens, and she rakes her teeth against the wet skin of his neck, biting hard at the junction between neck and shoulder until she tastes blood. She won't hold back because she doesn’t want him to hold back. Not here, not with her.

She feels the vibration of the growl against her chest before she hears it, deep and savage, and yet somehow not a threat. He doesn’t throw her off—not yet—but his head twists up, his teeth meeting her throat, sharp and scraping against the skin. Not breaking it.

He’s still holding back. He’s _still_ not all the way here, some part of him elsewhere, whether thinking of the past or of the others, she can’t tell. Nor does she care—she just wants him here, wants him present, wants all of him, right now. Every bit that she can get, because there may not be a next time. She may not have him like this again--and so she grinds down on him with something close to desperation, brutally hard against the erection that presses up to meet her.

His hands tighten around her arms, almost crushing. He’s _so close_ now, she can almost feel the wolf rising out of his skin to meet her. It's almost here. She wants to see its face, wants it to take her. He's never given it to her, never shown her, never let it happen. It's just another in a long list of things that he keeps from her now. 

She yanks him away from her neck by the hair and kisses him, hard and rough, pricking her tongue on the wolf’s teeth that he’s even now retracting as he forces himself to calm, his hands loosening their grip around her arms, sliding to the sheets. It’s exactly the opposite of what she wants, and she hisses, closing her fingers around his throat.

He stills, looking up at her. His eyes are liquid and brown and remind her too much of a boy she knew before there were werewolves, before her family had been torn apart, before everything she knew became nothing more than a facade for a darker picture. Her face twists, and she buries it against his sweat-slicked chest, slipping her hand down between his legs and gripping what she finds there as if for purchase. His head falls back, and she is able to look at him again, to see those eyes closed, his throat brown and bare, the bite she gave him already healing over.

There will be no scar. She can’t even leave a mark on him. 

She gives his erection a vicious wrench, and he arches again, slamming up against her with a force that soothes her with how close the wolf is to the skin. She does it again, testing, urging—and finds herself on her back, looking at up at golden eyes and sharp teeth. Nothing more--he's still human but for the fangs bared above her, but she'll take it. She'll take it for now.

Things blur for a moment, and when she comes to her hands are pinned above her head and her underwear is lost somewhere at their feet. He's licking up her chest, teeth nipping at her breasts--still gentle, still so _damnably_ _gentle--_ and scraping away at her skin before finally gripping and holding her neck. Finally. They're human teeth but she's pressing herself up against them, twisting her neck, begging him, trying to force him into biting her, into marking her there--but his grip holds, gentle and firm and unpiercing, nothing more than a grip. Too gentle. Too gentle, too gentle, too gentle... 

The world suddenly begins to rock and move in a breathless, almost violent rhythm she hasn’t felt in far too long, and she relaxes against his teeth, hips rocking against his as she feels her heart catch and beat staccato against her chest. His mouth holds, warm and unyielding, against her neck and it's almost a kiss,  _almost_ a claiming, and closer,  _closer_ now--until something snaps, and she cries out for the first time that night, senses flooding with warmth until everything is blissfully, blissfully blank. 

He comes soon after, falling down against her, warm and solid and  _right_ and finally here--all of him, none of him hiding in some other place for her to never, never find. His hand reaches out and brushes against her hair, picking up a knot of it, tangled and damp with sweat. She looks at him then, sees the drowsy contentment in his eyes, and almost feels safe. 

He looks as if he's about to speak, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, when suddenly it comes--the wolf's howl, deep and longing and lonely, and her hair drops forgotten from his fingers as he stiffens beside her, tensing like a strung bow. She wants him to be anxious, angry, to turn back to her and shrug as if to say "it can wait"--but she knows what's coming before he even turns back to look at her. 

Eagerness.  

Her heart shrinks, pebble-size, falling deep within the sudden emptiness in her chest. He's already gotten up, scooping his jeans from the floor and slipping into them, eyes focused on the window with animal intensity, seeing something only he can see out in the dark. 

“I have to go.” It’s unnecessary. They both know it. He looks at her, then, pausing for a second, and in it is something like regret. She can’t stand to see it, anymore than she can stand to show him that it matters--and so she smiles, careless and sweet. 

“Okay.” Her voice doesn't betray her. She's practiced well. Still, she watches him closely for any sign that it bothers him—but only gets an answering smile, wide and impossibly young and bright, before he’s gone out the window.

Minutes later, she hears a second howl join the first.


End file.
